The mind is a sickening solitude.
They are all mental. Fucked up in the head. Diving into their grief head first and drowning their sorrows in liquor. They meet up twice a week for a group therapy-that's the new Hogwarts policy for the childr...
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They didn't know what to do with those who survived the war. Who survived the battle. They threw most of the Death Eaters in Azkaban - those who committed acts too gruesome were burned alive. There was silence now - no more laughter sounded in the old victorian style house of Attwell, no more silverware clattering together announcing a warm, welcoming meal, no more piano notes floating through the corridors as Mr and Mrs Atwell swayed to the soft tune - smiling when hearing giggles from their girls.
Her sister, Scarlet, would play until her fingers would callous and her ears would bleed from the loud notes. Scarlet was gone now, and Sage wanted nothing more than to beg her sister to play.
The flours had all wilted, ugly vines had encased the ceiling high windows of the manor and the viridian pasture looked like it was burned into a sad, pitiful, gray color. Serenity, her older sister, would always take care of the flowers and the trees and the pasture - even after mother would tell her "Serenity, dear Merlin, child! Your dress will be soaked in soil!" Serenity would give mother a gentle smile, placing a wild magnolia behind her ear, repeating the words she had repeated so many times ''nature completes us, mother! Without the soil there would be no trees, and without trees there would be no life, without these flowers there would be no color! Whatever a disgraceful world to live in where beauty is only labeled by the clothes we wear and not the plants we love,"
She was scratched by Greyback during the battle and didn't make it past her first transformation. Sage found her shredded body in a shed where Mr Attwell had tied a rope around his neck and jumped off years prior.
Sage ran a thin finger over an old wooden drawer that held dried rose petals - she lifted her finger and saw that the tip was gray. Sage could've choked on the amount of dust that had piled around the house. She had dismissed the house-elves the same night after the battle; when her knees buckled as she processed the impossible idea that she was the only one left. She had gone into a fit of screaming and crying, had sent hexes at the windows that her younger sister, Soren, would spend hours sitting beside - with a book in her hand. Molly Weasley had thought she was part of the Death Eaters and had sent an unforgivable straight towards her heart. Sage watched Narcissa Malfoy cradle her younger sister's body in her arms.
Sage made her way upstairs, running a hand over the dent on the wall where her oldest sister, Sloane, had hit her head while drunk at a New Year's gala their family was holding that year. There was no more party, there was no more Sloane. So many witty remarks earned her a slap to the arm from their mother, "a bad twisted tongue" Sage recalled that's what Saoirse, Sloane's twin and other half, would call her back talk. They were yin and yang, calm and disruptive, quiet and loud, stern and chill. But they completed each other.
She could still hear the echo of Saoirse scream when she had found Sloane.
Sage shuddered.
Her life consisted only of memories now, recalling the joyful memories until they bled into the pictures of her family dying. It had been almost a year since the war - but the details were so detailed in her mind - the taste of curses and hexes and gun powder so raw on her tongue. There was no more happiness or sadness, there was only a subtle rage that seeped into her every once in a while - but now, even that didn't seem to affect her.
